


Off Pointe

by Alotmoreginger



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Adorable, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Anime, Attempted Sexual Assault, Ballerina, Ballet, Bisexual Character, Child Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fakiru - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Character, Manga, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Smut, Stalking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Sex, Vaginal Sex, Young Love, dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alotmoreginger/pseuds/Alotmoreginger
Summary: Being a ballerina causes tons of stress. Ballerina and dance school, however, is more stressful. Ahiru knows this better than everyone, especially since she's now coping with her high school love interest leaving to become a professional with his sweetheart. While all is rather normal, the school is bustling with pubescent fawning as her old classmate is now an attractive ballet teacher, Fakir. The school may be safe, but outside has danger lurking just beyond the walls, though inside the walls is no safer.





	1. Chapter 1

I haven’t been told someone loves me in almost six years. It’s something I miss, but not something I yearn for anymore. I don’t particularly mind not hearing it from my classmates or teachers. It would be rather strange to hear that from those people, wouldn’t it? I just try to practice my balance, keep my core strong, be good in my classes, and stay on time with my peers. That has become a bit harder with the most recent teaching addition; one of my old classmates, Fakir.

Ever since Fakir began teaching morning ballet, Lilie, one of my two best friends, and practically every other girl in the morning class has been absolutely dumbfounded and swooning over him. It isn’t much of a surprise, though. Half the girls in the class have been falling to their knees just to get him to notice them for a brief second. I heave as my bones and muscles start to ache, calling over Pique, my other best friend, to my side. Her dark hair gleams with the dyed purplish hues in the soft morning light let in through the studio windows. She gallops over, her pink unitard holding her body tightly, allowing every part of her to be seen rather well. Both Pique and Lilie had grown into gorgeous 17 year olds, while I somehow managed to stagnate at 13.

With Pique, Lilie follows behind, though her eyes don’t seem to leave Fakir. How innocent, I think to myself, that someone as hopelessly romantic can fall for a guy like him. I wipe my brow, catching a quick glance at his adult features. He has aged gracefully though it’s only been two years; narrow green eyes are an untouched forest, a towering frame held nimble by slim and muscular legs, brown hair that pulled back nicely into a long ponytail. We catch eyes, although it is very brief and he seems practically disgusted by me before I look back at my duo of friends. His stare still lingers uncomfortably behind me even as I leave.

“Geez, Fakir sure is a tough guy to please, isn’t he?” Pique finally speaks up between us all, despite me being the one who initially brought us together. Lilie can’t help but swoon at the mention of his name, though this makes Pique playfully nudge Lilie’s arm, attempting to pull her out of her head. 

“I think I could be able to satisfy him. Besides, have you seen the way he dances? So full of angst...” Lilie seems to dwell her eyes on him as he leaves the class, his usual groupies flickering and around him. Her eyes move back to us, still seemingly love struck.

“He’s just so uptight. Maybe he should learn that not everyone can perform such complex moves yet. I mean, we’re second years, we’ve barely finished learning grande jeté." Pique adds, moving toward the doors into the hall.

“Yeah, but I think his heart is in the right place. He just wants us to do our best.” I finally chime in to oppose of Pique’s earlier opinion. I remember how grouchy he was when we were first years, and how much distaste he had for anyone aside from himself and Mytho.In my mind, I would like to simply attribute it to social anxiety and passion for being the best. Pique just scoffs and laughs it off. She blames my neverending positivity and optimism as we all exit the ballet hall in the direction of our dormitories.

Throughout the grounds, there is the echoing rumor that girls on campus have been going missing. I can only hear sprinklings of conversations, but I know a lot of the speculation revolves around trafficking and prostitution. I shudder at the very idea that someone could take another person against their will and just sell them. But then arises the conversation of which ones chose to leave and which ones were actually taken? Were girls actually even missing from the campus? It’s something I can’t help but think about for far too long, and it makes me noticeably wither, prompting both Pique and Lilie and they attempt to lighten the mood with idle girl chatter, both of them discussing beautiful ballerinas and ballerina said to be performing soon. We continue to chatter until we make it to our own respective rooms.

I pull down my blinds and flick on my light, switching out of my unitard and into my bath robe, though I immediately second guess my decision. The shower room will be swarming with girls after practice, and I’m not particularly comfortable being surrounded by other nude girls who are vastly more developed than me, seeing as I still look like a nymphette rather than a maturing girl. I hover in front of my door, considering my options.

The private bath! Of course, how could I forget? The private bath is rather new, and no one really uses it as it’s a more foreign commodity, making it perfect for my socially anxious conscience. I know it’s in the teachers quarters, but I would rather have a single teacher see me nude than fifty nude girls see me. I pull open my door with my hand protecting my chest with all my shower supplies, including the fluffy white towel.

Making my way to the downstairs hall, about halfway down, I stop and stare at the bath door. After a couple minutes of no one going in or out, I proceed and enter into the dressing room. The warm wave of humid air hits me hard, lingering over my entire body as I close the door behind me. I make sure to have the door close as softly as possible. The teachers hall is usually something students aren’t allowed in, so I attempt to have the footsteps and actions of a mouse; walking to one of the many lockers I discard of my slippers and robe, only my towel clutching tightly to my breast.

I make my way over to the door that is concealing the bath, and open the room to myself, steam seeping out around me. I step in, and observe for a moment. The bath is large, enough to fit at least 20 people, and it seems to be completely void of anyone else. I let loose a sigh of relief, and pull my hair out of its cramped bun, letting it fall loose to my waist. Slipping down into the warm water I feel welcome in its grasps on my skin. It seems almost like a luxury item in any of the dorm halls. I guess that’s why it’s reserved for teachers.

I reach for the soap I brought, along with the other toiletries, pulling them close to the edge of the bath for easy access. I watch as my long hair starts to soak in the water, becoming heavier on my head. Pulling my body above the water, I begin to lather myself with the smooth bar of soap I brought, washing over my arms, torso, legs, and feminine parts. I thoroughly rub myself until suds cover most of my body. Plunging myself back into the water, I giggle as I watch the bubbles slowly dissipate around me, remembering the fond bubble baths I took in my childhood.

Still, my anxiety can't help but peak as I notice the soft steps of my classmates tapping through the hallway, remembering the painful memories from my uncomfortable childhood. I hold the soap against my chest, disassociating as memories flood past my eyes. Eventually, I find myself standing up and leaving the bath for my changing room. I realize that everyone's still outside, and have to wait for a moment, trying to find the perfect moment to leave. Finally, there's no footsteps.

I discard my towel in an empty hamper by the edge of the door and throw my robe around me, stray water droplets still dribbling down my legs and arms, staining the floor. I quickly push my feet into the shower shoes and wrap my robe around my body, quickly tying it shut. I rush to my room, the comparatively cold air nipping my exposed skin. Reaching the door, I fling it open and insert myself as quickly as possible.

Letting myself in and locking my door behind me, I feel the panic settle in my throat. My rose colored cheeks now simmer down to a soft pink. I throw off my robe and stand naked against my door, blinds still drawn so no one can see my lolita frame. Settling down even further I take a heaving sigh, and decide to throw on a sundress, perfect for moving easily and looking nice, despite being extremely lazy. I re-open my blinds and fling open the window, allowing pleasant sunshine inside. I listen for the soft chatter of birds, laying out the seed on my windowsill; the birds had been fed this morning, and lunch was looming ever so closely, so I think it best to lay out more food. As soon as the seeds hit the plaster, I watch as a number of the colorful avians flutter to me. I grin, continuing to lay out more seed for them. A small yellow bird places herself into my actual room, staring politely up at me.

“Miss Canary!” I gleefully exclaim to her, holding out my finger for her to perch. “How are you? Are the hatchlings doing well?” The bird happily chirps, her talons gently clutching my one finger.

I continue my conversation with Miss Canary, happily knowing I’m making up what she’s saying so that I can love her even more. I feel her talons gently lift off, and her wings spanning bigger. I help push her out the window, watching as her wings cut the air, only barely taking a break to push herself up again. The birds are well fed now, and my job is seemingly over with until dinner rolls around. I’m honestly surprised none of the birds I care for are overweight and lethargic. Maybe it’s the constant exercise of breezing through the air, or maybe it’s just because they don’t expect the food. Whatever the reason, it’s still baffling.

A loud and unexpected knock at my door causes me to jump, almost out my window, though I manage to catch myself. It’s probably Pique and Lilie, I think to myself. It is almost lunch hour and we do all like going out for lunch together, so the thought isn’t entirely void of reason. I brisk up to my door, whipping it open and I realize I had the wrong idea. Fakir stands over me, his demeanor a bit rustled and his body facing away from me.

“Oh, Fakir. What are you-” I begin, though Fakir is quick to cut my words.

“You’re failing your morning lessons. I would like to help you get back on track. Meet me in the ballet hall in 5 minutes.” He growls, not even looking at me and in a moments notice, without a response, left for the ballet hall. A bit shaken by the experience, I look down the hallway to make sure what happened wasn’t just some odd hallucination. Sure enough, his backside was turned towards me as he saunters down the hallway, ever so cocky in his stride. I step back inside my room, and realize he’s not joking. I then put on my unitard, my hair in a bun, my feet in my ballet slippers, and begin following after him.

Sprinting out of my room, I try to zoom past every person, narrowly missing most and tripping over one. I manage to tumble, scraping both my knees to the point of bleeding, but brush it off. I swiftly apologize to the person I had run into, but have to leave as soon as I’m finished apologizing. I continue to feel sore as I rush to the ballet hall. I feel my time slowly running out, and the sweat dripping down my face is no help to my already blurry sight.

 

As soon as I enter the building, I curve hard into the door and practically throw it off the hinges, causing the three other failing students to be taken aback, while Fakir is standing, totally unsurprised at my flamboyant entrance. I beam at my ability to enter class on time, even if it is a remedial class. Fakir holds his head down, assigning me a place to stand next to a girl who seems to be watching Fakir with utter bliss.

 

Geez, I think to myself, I didn’t realize how many girls wanted Fakir. Almost all girls, aside from myself, are giving Fakir at least a flirty stare. One girl starts doing her leg stretches in his direction; very open leg stretches on the ballet bar. I roll my eyes, trying to readjust my bun before the class begins. Pulling my leg onto the bar I begin stretching my sore muscles, which are still recovering from morning ballet and my swift kiss with the ground. My leg is only two-thirds of the way pulled up, though as Fakir is perusing past all of us, making sure we have proper form is what I’m assuming, he pushes me down a bit further on the bar in an attempt to make me cramp up. I, in a secure effort to make him think better of me, push myself further, even if it makes my scrapes bunch up and begin hurting. I close my eyes in a futile attempt to mask the pain. Fakir lightly raps on my shoulder with his knuckle. I open my eyes and gaze at him.

 

“You’re bleeding. Stop stretching.” Somehow, I hear a crack of actual concern in his voice through his muddled anger. I look back at my leg and notice a long red thread of blood from my scrape begin trickling toward my thigh. I squirm out of position, discomfort rising in my throat from the sight of blood.

 

Fakir forcibly sits me down, staring at both my knees and holding them with a gentle grip. He lets out a worried sigh, though his green eyes seem trained on warmth and gentleness. He stands, keeping a hand on my shoulder and ordering me to stay out while he strides out to the nurse. Sitting in my place, I already feel the glare of three angry girls on me. As soon as he is out of sight, the fellow ballerinas begin pestering me.

 

I recognize Antoinette as she approaches me, her burly figure held up by delicate legs. Her face is long and her hair is almost like brown fur; unkempt and tattered despite being kept nicely in a ponytail and bow. She leans down to me, hands on both hips, her thick frame pulling hard against her thin unitard; though even with that, she is very pretty, with flawless skin, soft brown eyes, and small perky lips. She was a large girl, but she was still attractive enough for boys to approach her.

 

But at this moment she did not seem interested in being friendly. The girls behind her seem to share the same tight lipped and unhappy expression. Their unitards share a little purple rim around the collar, and their buns seem to match in size. Twins, I realize.

 

“So, you think that just because Fakir talked to you more in freshman year, he’ll want you more?” Antoinette barks, her lulling and almost motherly treatment seems to have left her from her first and second year. She seems more calculated and cold now.

 

“Uhh, I don’t really know what you’re talking about, Anty.” My response is not the one what they want. Antoinette points at my knees, almost implying I fell on purpose. I raise an eyebrow, letting loose a soft chuckle.

 

“Do... do you really think I would trip just to get Fakir to notice me..? You know I’m the queen of clumsiness, Anty.” I try to raise my hands in confusion. One of the twins speaks up, her voice lower than I imagined coming from a girl like her.

 

“Girls will do anything to get guys to notice them! Especially guys like him.” She seems as sour as her face looks. Before they can continue interrogating me, Fakirs footsteps come closer. All girls stood straight, rushing back to the positions they had been in before he had exited. Fakirs entrance immediately smooths out the girls moods, causing them to just stare and gush at him. He kneels down with a small first aid kit handy at his side.

 

“Everyone else, practice your twirls.” His cold voice rings clear in the girls and I watch as they practice twirling as he asked. “As for you,” his voice softens towards me, but not by much. Only the kind of softening you’d hear a scolding parent give a child when they fall. “I’m going to have to tend to your scrapes. While they’re minor, I don’t want the risk of infections and more bleeding.” He opens the small box, retrieving from it a small bottle of some sort of disinfectant. Holding a rag to the opening of the unscrewed bottle, he tips it over quickly, allowing the liquid to spill over onto the rag before tipping it back up. He screws the cap back on, and informs me it may sting. I nod briefly.

 

We lock eyes for a split second and it’s awkward. A sort of nostalgic awkward, but still awkward enough for it to be broken with a harsh sting to my knee. I cringe, my hands clamping shut and whimpering into my bitten lip.

 

“I know it hurts—girls, keep practicing. Try standing on point—but it’ll be over with in a minute.” Fakir moves onto a fresh cloth, repeating the same process on my other knee. It only lasts a few more seconds, before he places two bandages on both knees.

 

“You’ll be fine now. Just get back to lessons.” He stands up, barely looking at me, and starts directing the individual students. I stand as well as I could before. They were just minor scrapes, after all; nothing seriously detrimental to my ability to perform. And so, I begin practicing with the other girls as we start our positions.

~~~

The remedial classes finishes at the 1 o’clock bell with all of us sweating and panting heavily. Fakir is absolutely of the mindset that having all of us push ourselves to the edge will make us better. I hold to the rail, eager to get some food in me. My stomach gurgles angrily, spiting me for bathing before eating. My ballet slipper barely exits the door before I realize that the lunch period has already ended. I groan, realizing I have to skip this lunch and suffer until dinner.

 

I stay behind in the class so I can practice my balance as Fakir procures a sack of food from his personal locker. He sits outside the class door, pulling open the cloth to reveal half a loaf of bread, two apples, and two portions of ham. My stomach howls even further, but I look away from his food, knowing it’ll only make me hurt more. I continue with the instructions Fakir had given us during his lesson. I hold my feet on point with my hand on the bar, though the feeling my of large toe crushing under the pressure of my body still sends pins to my legs and hips. I bring my arm that isn’t holding the bar above my head like a crescent moon. My legs keep wobbling. God this hurts, my thoughts seem to ramble on about the pain, before I let my other arm go, bringing it in the reverse position of my top arm.

 

Proudly holding the stance for at least 5 grueling seconds, I fall to the ground, my arms only barely catching my fall and preventing my second kiss being with the ballet studio floor. I sigh and bring myself up again, attempting the same thing, and only managing to fall again in the same way.

 

“Idiot...” I hear Fakir call to himself. He’s watching and judging me now, his eyes burning into my back. I turn to him as I recover again. Pulling himself back into the room, he’s obviously frustrated with me. I stand on my toes once more, trying the same thing again. My eyes close, trying to bear the pain of my toes being pressed so firmly into the wooden floor.

A moment passes, and I feel ready to fall, before two hands grab my waist and pull me back up. I look over my shoulder at Fakir whose eyes are distant, but very alert to me. He pulls me back up and starts repositioning my legs, my right in front of my left, along with pushing up on my stomach, sternly reminding me to tighten my core.

“Fakir, what are you doing?” He steps back from me in silence, motioning to proceed with what I was doing. I stand on point, my feet quivering, but my stance is full and bracing enough to where I know I won’t fall. It’s painful, but I can’t fall over. At that, I start the routine I was given in class; step front, pirouette three times, stand en flat, balance en point, and lean forward with arms outstretched.

I return to my relaxed position, feet regaining feeling as they mesh with the floor holding me much better than before. I turn to Fakir, who has a hint of a smile across his lips. I beam brightly at him, crossing my way toward him. He stiffens, his hands grasping at his hips as he towers above me. Before words even wrap around my tongue, he pulls one of his ham portions out and holds it out to me, offering it without hesitation. I stare at it, unsure if this is a cruel joke or genuine kindness, from him, its always been a game of chance.

“Are you sure..?” I prod at the meat, making sure it wasn’t something else. It is, without a doubt, ham.

“Yeah. I’m not going to let you starve. I know you didn’t have time to eat.” He seems stoic, but his cheeks change into a shade darker. At that, I take the food, thanking him. He nods and lets me have his spare apple and a portion of his bread. As school mates, he absolutely hated me and would have cared less if I starved for days on end. Something, somehow, had changed in him. Right now I don’t know what it is, but I’m glad that it changed him. Thanking him, he simply nods and grabs the remainder of his things and saunters to his dorm, I assume.

I sit outside the ballet hall, nibbling on all the food I was given, managing to cram it down before class starts. I know I’m going to regret that decision, but it’s fine. As I lift myself from the ground, my bones give a satisfactory pop. Pique and Lilie approach me from halfway down the hall, Lilie giving a joyous wave with Pique holding her hips and giving a loving smile.

“What are you doing here so early, Ahiru? You’re never this early to afternoon lessons,” Lilie exclaims, taking my hands into hers and her golden curls bouncing around her porcelain face. I shrug, a bit flustered and uncomfortable with their sudden appearance but it’s to be expected from them since they are better than me and always punctual.

“Oh, Fakir asked me to come down for remedial lessons.” I can’t lie to them, they’ll see right through me into my tiny girlish heart. Both stare, Lilie holds my hands and squeezes tighter. Her eyes soften to me, and smiles resurface after a few seconds.

“Aw, poor little Ahiru! Always a little behind on her studies!” Lilie pulls me into a thrusting hug which sends me forward a bit too much, as though I’m a small child who’s in constant need of reassurance. I hug back, knowing her too well to assume she’d honestly think of me as a baby. Pique chimes in, her brown eyes shimmering as she coos at me.

“At least Fakir is trying to help you.” Pique pats my shoulder as Lilie releases her motherly embrace. Our trio makes our way into the room, waiting patiently for Mister Katt to arrive in class. We chat about mild things, books, birds. Somehow the conversation derails at the mention of the one guy who I have fallen truly in love with.

“Mytho has gotten pretty famous since he left,” Lilie pipes up, her swoon reviving, but in favor of my interests. I feel a small grin tug at my mouth, a shy fumble of my fingers. Mytho is someone I’ve been pining over for two full years. He has a blossoming career as a professional ballerino, in magnificent productions for someone who is just barely 18. We had gone to see him in the nutcracker, and he was amazing.

“Yeah. He sure is amazing.” A dreamy lull fills my voice. He’s such a fantastic ballerino dancer, his glistening white hair that paled stars, snowy skin, and those captivating hazel eyes. How could anyone have resisted him? I tune out, thinking about that one time we spoke. It wasn’t about much, just birds, weather, and his lessons. His voice was soft, almost songbird like. I feel my cheeks flush thinking about how well he danced in the higher class. How light he looked, how dreamy his expression was. That boy seemed like he was always in a daydream.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear? Him and Rue are getting married next weekend.” My happy memory snaps in two. Feeling my muscles struggle to look at them, I hesitate to ask.

“Married? Where’d you hear that?” My face pales, fear sinking far into my stomach as Pique smooths herself to my side and raps her hand on my shoulder.

“Oh, Ahiru... it’ll be okay. We know you liked him and all, but...” Lilie tries to console my, her fingers twirling a free strand of my hair.

Before words begin to escape my mouth, our teacher stalks his way into the class, abruptly closing our conversation. We turn to him, only just realizing a good three-fourths of the class is already here. We turn to face him, Pique and Lilie removing their hands and arms from me, but I still feel their comfort.

Our instructor, Mister Katt is a very strange fellow. He’s very tall and seems almost out of shape, but his performances are always supportive of his body. His brown body hair is almost everywhere, ever-present amounts always poking out of somewhere. His green eyes are always poised outside of the room, giving him a glossy stare during lessons. As the last trickle of students file into the room, the classes begin.


	2. Chapter 2

My muscles can no longer take it. Shortly after lessons, I collapse to the studio floor with so little breath left in my lungs, I feel like a ghost. I heave and puff all the air I can get, Pique sliding me into her arms with ease and grace. I gasp, a bit confused at the revelation of how thin I am. I’m a stick to her, barely surpassing 40 kilograms, almost like a middle school student.

 

Pique smiles and allows me to take a slight rest while bouncing in her arms, getting very personal with her sizable chest. The looks we receive on our way to the dorms are nothing short of unusual. It doesn’t happen often when a student is so tired they have to be carried. Lilie manages to open my door, with Pique laying me on the bed, offering me anything. I wave off her offer, assuring her I just want to take a nice long nap. Both girls nod, and as they begin walking out, I notice as they exit that their hands slowly intertwine. How odd.

 

But, as my word is true, I begin drifting off into sleep, not bothering to change into my nightgown. I pull my comforter over my cold and clammy body and begin drifting off.  
I dream of someone dancing with me, someone familiar. I can’t place their face immediately, almost like they’re censoring themselves from me. As we continue dancing, the song begins to slow down, and start creaking like an old music box that needs to be wound up again. As the last note falls to an astounding halt, the face is revealed. Fakir is standing in front of me, hand clasping gently to my hip. He leans forward, and I begin leaning into him, pushing myself up on my tip toes. I touch his soft lips to mine, his hands pulling closer up my back.

 

With eyes opening once again, my vision is greeted by the soft glow of a waning moon. I arise from my comforter, staring down at my pink unitard. I must’ve slept for who knows how long, since last I remember, the sun was barely passing over the western houses. Bits and pieces of my dream rouse my memory, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary for dreams. Just strange dances to strange old songs. It sounded like Dance of the Knights, but I’m not entirely sure since the song seemingly blended with other noises around me.

I rise, rubbing away the sleep from my eyes. Throwing my feet over the edge of my bed, I let a long yawn slip from my gaping mouth and I return to my feet, wobbling for a second as I regain balance. I want a shower, I think to myself; I want to scrub myself clean of that dream. It felt so sinful, that hot water is the only way to let it go. Groggily pulling my unitard off, I cover myself with a clean robe, only to be used for the showers. I step out into the desolate landscape of the halls, tiptoeing through the silence with near precision.

I make it to the showers without interference, and creak the door open, peeking in. No one; perfect. I enter, pulling a towel from the rack, and disrobing. The showers are different from the private bath, each shower is separated from the other by a divider. I still hate using them when they’re crowded since everyone can see my small body. I throw my robe over the coat hanger opposite of the shower head, so it’s easy to grab from where I am. Jerking on the old shower knob, a jet of cool water splashes down my front which by proxy sends waves of shivers and thousands of goosebumps to raise throughout my entire body. I thrust myself forward to try to change the temperature as quickly as possible. As the water becomes warmer and warmer, I begin to reinsert myself underneath the tingling droplets.

As I wash myself, I begin to rethink the dream. I don’t really want to kiss Fakir, it’s just a dream. He’s been so mean to me over the years, it’s a fact that he hates me at this point. He’s always so venomous towards me, no matter what I do. Except during remedial lessons, but even then he is cold towards me. What was that crack in his voice? He almost sounded sympathetic, almost like Mytho did.

Mytho. I remember him so fondly, despite barely knowing him. His grey eyes still pierce me as I recollect many fantasies I’ve had about him. Mostly just romantic things, like him falling in love with me, marrying me, and fathering our two children, named Sonata and Hamnet. I feel a smirk pull at my lips, gently reminding me of how sweet he was. But he’s no longer available for anyone but probably Rue; it must be nice feeling that kind of pure love. I shiver in despair, knowing I’ll never find someone who I truly love like that. My feet give out and I fall to my knees, barely able to hold myself together. I face myself towards the head of the shower, water droplets mixing with salty tears I presume are already falling down my face. I don’t want anyone to know I’m crying if they come in.

I’m doomed to be a lonely sitting duck for the rest of time; unloved and unwanted. I can’t help of think of all the events that foretold this future of continued abandonment. First Papa, then Mama, now Mytho. How can I always be so naive to people’s true intentions? More and more the water collects around me, pooling all around the floor as I sit on top of the shower drain.

I sit long enough to where my fingers start to prune and only soft hiccups replace my sobs. My body forces itself to rise, with the greatest possible energy I am able to muster from my sore and unwilling limbs. The knob of the shower is harder to turn back, but I manage to do it. I slink my arms around to the fluffy and comforting hug of my robe, and dry my body as quickly as possible. I open the shower door, practically forcing myself to leave.

Leaving my pity in the shower drains, my face perks up. No ballet today, so I can finally travel back to town and see some of the parks. It’s been a long time since I went out by myself. Maybe a trip to the library will clear my brain of all it’s rainclouds. Opening up my room again, through my window I watch as the sun begins painting the sky it’s oranges and purples, with gentle blues overlapping them all. My eyes don’t leave the sky until the baby blue becomes the entire sky, prompting me to put on my summer clothes. I slip into my yellow, high-waisted shorts while tucking in my white turtle neck, pulling my sleeves to my elbows and billowing out the door.

The outside world illuminates me, streets only barely starting to bustle with people as I step out of the academies boundaries and into the streets. The sound of bird songs creates a chipper mood in the air, allowing a skip in my step as I walk through the streets. Scanning for either a library or a park, I manage to catch a few lingering conversations of others. Talk of a performance group is rather popular among those that I can hear, dancing to be precise. Maybe it’s Mythos?

I continue my stroll, falling prey to the tantalizing entrance of the park. As my walk continues, I feel enveloped in the bird songs, sending back my renditions of their songs. Many of the birds fly closer, singing again, with myself mirroring their tune. I feel as many of my friends place themselves on my shoulders and arms. My eyes scan around me, hoping no one can see the odd scene I am causing. I cross my legs below me, peacefully placing myself below the thicker of trees and shrubbery

I feel comfortable once again, finally sitting with my feathery friends in a place I can’t be judged. My friends sing a song, not in harmony with anything other than their own beats. I begin gossiping among them, knowing fully well I look insane and if anyone caught me, I’d immediately be sent to the looney bin. My voice is kept low as a result, conversing partially with myself. I begin reimagining and telling them the dream and a slew of my friends, toward the end of the story, separate from my arms and fly off towards their respected branches. I am so utterly baffled by their sudden departure, I feel absolutely alone. Am I really that weird of a person that even birds don’t like me anymore?

My ears perk up as the sound of snapping twigs and grass crunching fills my air. I twist and turn until I catch the eye of another person. They aren’t looking at me, or anything it seems. They’re just walking through thickets of forestry, and I’m intrigued by their presence immediately. I stalk behind them, wondering where they’re going or what they’re doing. My heart beats, as with each of their footsteps I catch less and less of an image of them. Soon, an opening appears, completely void of any life, yet somehow still green and lush. My breath is soft and unnoticeable, my eyes stare from behind a tree as the person finds their place in the center of the entire field, completely void of knowledge I’m watching them.

Their back facing towards me, I watch as they pull out a large broadsword, and even from a far distance I can tell they hold it firmly and with stability. The person stands en point and begins dancing with the sword, with unbelievable grace and agility. My mouth can’t help but sit agape in awe as they wield it so perfectly balanced with such a beautiful moveset, their entire body moving so freely like a willow, but so tense and harsh as well. The person twirls, sword outstretched and body firm, their identity finally revealing itself to me as they come to a stop to allow a small bird to perch itself on the blade of his sword.

Gentle and loving green eyes stare at the small creature, not even sweating at the amount of precision and sheer force it takes to do those moves. Fakir outstretches his finger, and the bird graciously flutters over, allowing him to replace his sword in his scabbard. I can’t help but stare at Fakir, so enthralled and amazed at how genuine and kind he actually is to things that aren’t people.

Immediately as a smile curls to my lips, my birds reappear and practically swarm me, making a giant scene. They sing and peck and practically force myself to lunge into the valley. As soon as I’m in clear skies, all but Fakirs blue bird are left. My face reddens immediately and as I sit up to try to scold my bird friends, Fakir has already noticed me and is approaching me. Upon sheer instinct, I apologize profusely toward him, denying immediately that I had seen anything. His eyes are stern, parental, and very obviously in planning of something. As his body nears mine, I feel my body begin to quake and shiver and fear bubble in my stomach. He approaches me, his gaze following mine.

“What are you doing out here?” His hand brandishes the hilt of his sword; I swallow as hard as I possibly can. I want to desperately explain myself, but word salad is the only thing that manages to dribble out. His eyes linger long on my face, trying to find something to prod at probably. My face feels both drained and hot while his brows stop furrowing and he’s no longer angry at me. He lets loose a gentle breath and seats himself beside me as though I am his old friend. His hand lingers on the grass as he stares into the meadow with his tiny bird watching off into the distance with him. There’s a silence between us; a silence that holds in the sweet air we have. Finally he glances over at me again, his green eyes glittering in the sunlight.

“You know why I’m hard on you, right?” his voice startles me, as his words are somehow sweet and friendly. We keep our eyes locked before I stammer out a nervous “no”. He smirks and looks into the grassy null, undoing his long ponytail.

“I think you could do a lot. You’re a passionate student, and I want you to use that passion with good form and good dance moves.” Something is totally different about him. Something strange. I analyze him, going over every small detail of his disposition, trying to find a hint of satire or sarcasm.

His bird floats off into the blue air and his eyes change somehow. His hands moves into his lap, folded and neat. The greenery is duller, colors less colorful when his face changes. He gives me one more glance and he shocks me once again.

“You don’t trust me,” his bones crack as he stands, “I know. I don’t expect you to like me.” My eyes follow him as he disappears back into the thicket of woods. He’s so strange, something that needs unraveling. Not a project, no. He’s a person, not a product. But it’s something that I can’t begin to start on.

~~~~~

I sit between Pique and Lilie in our mess hall the next morning, dwelling far too heavily on what Fakir meant when he spoke to me. You don't trust me, his eyes echoed with something sad. Something far into himself that I can't comprehend, that I might not be able to understand. Pique rubs my back, and comforts me, detailing how everything would be better eventually and that I'd be out of remedial lessons soon. Even with this reassurance, Lilie takes my disgruntled mood in a completely different direction.

"I know you're sad about Mytho, but you have to understand that it just wasn't meant to be." Lilie gently rubs my back, affectionately reminding me of Mytho. This does not improve my mood whatsoever, only making me groan in agony as the thoughts of their gorgeous wedding zooms into my frail mind. God, Rue will look like a goddess in a wedding dress; her dark hair filled with flowers and a white veil barely revealing her adult features. She probably will have chosen a gorgeous floor length dress, with everything laced into it. She'll probably look beautiful. My brain keeps imagining how perfect their wedding had been, and I can't even focus on what Fakir said. I plant my face into the table with an abrupt thud.

"Ducky... There's no need to pout," Pique and Lilie say together, their voices mixing together to form a new sound. My eyes drag upwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of something satisfying; maybe Death? Death would probably be satisfactory at this point, no reason to live without Mytho being mine. I say this sarcastically in my head, but partially wish it was a reality. Alas, instead there is a boy I go to class with, awkwardly waving to me. I give a smirk back, before slamming my head back onto the table. I don't know much about him, but he seems harmless enough. Just the kind of kid who crushes on a new girl every week and can't seem to get any of them. He’s not unattractive, just rather plain. Short brown hair, green eyes, a rather slender figure, and average height.

My suffering ends as soon as the breakfast bell chimes. Pique and Lilie stand with me, and as I step away from their middle, their hands once again intertwine with each other. My mouth turns into a slight grin as I recognize their situation. They probably don't want the word getting out, so I keep my mouth shut. For a small time I feel giddy and all my woes are gone. I knew they had liked each other for quite some time, but I didn't think they'd actually end up dating; this was nice. A pure exhibition of love, something I wish I'll have one day.

I carry myself on weak legs as I watch my classmates scurry to their extracurricular activities. Instead of just moping to my dorm, I decide to check the Cork Board, our schools informational board that had events from around the town publicized for us to see and attend. Immediately, I notice a flyer for the performance group I had seen earlier in the week. I brisk over most details, eventually finding Mytho and Rue's names in the cast section. My heart flutters in both fear and in joy. I so badly want to attend, but the thought of seeing Rue again absolutely horrifies me after she absolutely berated me in front of our entire class. Calling me 'uneducated', 'ungraceful', and 'totally uncoordinated' after I had forgotten one of my moves in a routine. She would consistently look down at all the underclassmen who couldn't perform as well as she did, giving her the title of "Queen Black Swan".

"Would you like to attend?" Fakir’s cold voice echoes in my ears. I whip around just as he stands straight, towering over me. I stammer out a graceless yes, and he gives a smirk that reminds me of the dream.

"Good thing I have an extra ticket. Care to join me?" I cock my head at his comment.

"An extra? Why do you have two?" He shrugs, his eyes avoiding mine as he continues, his voice a bit colder.

"Does it matter? Don't you want to watch them?"

"Well... Yeah. But I don't want to intrude on your night." I try to deflect him, but he's already walking away.

"You're not intruding if I invite you. Meet me here at nine tonight. Look formal, please." He waves me off, giving one last look at me from over his shoulder. Those eyes give off a strange vibe that I can't fully shake from my psyche. My legs finally start to carry me to my room, eager to see Mytho again even with Fakir accompanying me. I rummage around my miniature closet, looking for something nice to wear as I toss aside all my uniforms, unitards, tutu's, and summer dresses. Each dress coming closer and closer to what I was expecting before I find it. A dress my mother gave to me before she 'left me', as my father put it. She said it was something she had always wanted to wear, but never knew when she would. She passed it onto me when I was thirteen, right before she went missing and Father dropped me off at the Academy. I pull it off its hanger, staring down at it.

It's beautiful. A knee length blue dress, with the sleeves starting past the shoulders and ending as the breasts. It's made of something soft, maybe silk or velvet. Something very comfortable to slip into, to say the least. I stare at the bell tower; 2:30. I still have plenty of time before the event even starts. I probably need to bathe and clear my mind anyway, to get out all the physical and metaphorical dirt I bear. All of the sudden, the reminder that remedial lessons start at 3 today reignites my brain and I panic. My training gear is lost under ten different outfits, and I have to get there early so Fakir doesn't revoke my ticket.

My burst of energy makes everything go by so slow even though I know I'm rushing. The only clean unitard I have is my black one, so I swiftly pull it on, and hurry out the door with water and flats in hand. I stumble my way into the ballet hall, before stopping in front of my room, trying to yank open the door with absolutely no luck. I look out of the nearest window, confused. 2:40. I got here early for the first time, so early Fakir isn't even here. I sit in front of the double doors, taking a large swig of my water.

As I wait, the boy I had noticed in the dining hall approaches the double doors. I think nothing of it at first, plenty of people are discussing curriculum and exercises with their teachers, with Fakir being no exception to that rule. I watch as he stands beside the door, presumably waiting for the class to start. An increasing uncomfortable silence begins to boil between us, and makes each minute feel so much worse than the last. I know he's looking at me at this point. He finally inhales and asks me, voice cracking.

"H-hey, a-are you here for the exercise regimen too?" His voice shows how truly nervous he is. While his voice is a bit deep, his pitch is overshadowed by his very shaky and cracking tone. I smile and shake my head.

"No, I have remedial lessons today. Did you need them?" I say, not losing my smile. He seems very sweet, if not a bit awkward. His hands begin to shake and his face turns a bright pink, his hands nervously fixing his messy blonde curls. He gives me another glance, stammering out a meek "yeah". The conversation stops, and Fakir approaches the double doors a few moments later, keys jingling in his hands.

"You're early, Ahiru. What a surprise," He twists the key in the lock, letting loose creaking doors as they breeze open. He turns his eyes to the boy. "Yes Wayland? What did you need?" Fakir's cold voice seems to send shivers through Wayland, causing him to stand straight.

"I forgot where I put my exercises, Mister Andor! If I could have an extra sheet of the male exercises, I would be indebted!" Fakir rolls his eyes at the boy, uncomfortable with the formality Wayland shows him.

"Come in. I have an extra somewhere in my pack," Fakir waves both of us into the room and I set myself against the mirrors, lacing up my shoes. I can still feel Wayland's eyes on me, but I think nothing of it. He's just lonely; besides, there's a no 'intermingling' policy, which just means boys and girls can't date on campus, leading to a lot of secret relationships between classes. But it's pretty well known I'm not interested in dating anyone, so he more than likely knows there's no chance in being with me. He leaves the classroom and Fakir lets loose a long sigh. I wait for the other girls to enter class, barely looking at Fakir. The discomfort between us is long and uninterrupted until the new group of girls enter the class when he finally announces that we'll be working on our regular exercises.

 

~~~~~

Sweat beads down my forehead as my legs shake with vigor. I take three long gulps of water before I notice everyone else is gone. Fakir glances at me and begins walking over, taking a seat beside me, and looks at the doors. He leans his thick olive skin against the mirror as he watches the other girls leave.

"You're strong willed. I'm proud of you for trying so hard," He lets a small grin through as he glances at me. I smile back, panting and sweating through my words.

"I... want to get better. I can't... get better without... trying." I wipe my brow and envision myself as a great ballerina, something my father would have been proud of. Fakir nods in agreement and wipes his slick neck. We sit, the silence not totally awkward but still a bit more uncomfortable. His hand rests on my back, a new topic arising.

"I still remember when you came to the school. You were so quiet when you came into the last year of your elementary class." He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair, pulling out this pony tail and revealing his long hair. I feel a slight flush of my cheeks as he continues.

"You looked like a scared little duck. I was so uncomfortable with seeing someone like you; someone so small, so childish, so... uncomfortable. I really couldn't grasp who you were, and I thought you were going to treat me like all the other girls did." He shoots me a glance with his affectionate green eyes, eyeing over my features. He continues.

"Girls still treat me the same as they did before. Like I'm just something attractive to date and hold as a trophy. Mytho was kind of the same, but he adored the attention. He doesn't show it, but it's obvious to me how much he craves the attention from girls. He went on to be a ballerino, so I guess that's expected of him now. I wish you could've heard what he said about you though," Fakir slouches himself, adjusting his voice to a higher pitch and tired tone, "'She’s so cute, I wonder if she'll prefer me or you?'" He resumes his original disposition, and we share a good-hearted laugh about it. But a twinge pulls at my heart, uncomfortable with the possibility that Mytho could even think like that. He was always so stoic and kind, as far as I remember. But people are different than what they let on sometimes.

"Did you ever like Rue?" my fatigue eases and I stare into him through the mirror. He rolls his eyes and presses his face into his hands.

"God, no. She has such high expectations of everyone. Not to mention she's controlling. She couldn't let me or Mytho do anything without having to know exactly where we were, what we were doing, blah blah blah, 'I'm Rue and I'm an overbearing bitch who can't handle the thought of Mytho being around other girls who are prettier than me,'" we laugh again, with me eventually holding onto my stomach from the pain I feel.

"She was so mean to everyone all the time, for no reason. Like, you're just genuinely passionate about ballet, but she just wanted to be mean for the sake of being mean." I manage to loosen up and my stomach stops hurting, but we still have interspersed chuckles. We just begin ranting and raving about those two, discussing how rude and vain they are. Fakir and I meet each other’s gaze once more, and we hold it. We hold a smile between both of us, his eyes glimmering in the golden skies let in through the windows. There's a long chime of the tower bell, signalling hour 7. My eyes shift towards the door, my entire body shaking in embarrassment as I realize we only have 2 hours to get ready and be at the venue. I tell Fakir that I'll meet him at the Cork Board in an hour as I run to my dormitory. He agrees, but stands much slower. I can still see a smile on his face as I leave, but I can't see much more.

My door virtually flies off its hinges just as quickly as I come inside and slam it shut. I nearly rip off my unitard and start changing into one of my less formal dresses, a knee length white dress with a black belt holding my waist. I can’t help but stare at my mothers dress, even though I know it’s not the right time to wear it. I pull my hair from its bun, and begin braiding my long hair. I'm thankful that my mom at least taught me that before she left. I throw the braid over my shoulder, and pull on nice blue flats. Then I leave for the Cork Board, holding my small breasts firm into my chest, hoping desperately for Fakir to be later than her. I stare out into the whispering sunset as the last wisps of the golden sky merge with the navy and canary-colored star speckled night.

As soon as the Cork Board is in view, I see Fakir waiting there with his arms crossed firmly. The closer I get though, it's obvious he isn't mad. In fact, he seems rather glad to see me, his arms unfolding as I get closer and his full formal wear showing in the beautiful rays of sun. A black vest over a white long sleeved button-up and nice black pants. Instead of saying anything, he holds out his arm for mine to intertwine, easily accepting his silent proposition. We begin walking to the venue in partial, and nostalgic, silence. There is suddenly the crunching of feet against the gravel roads, running towards us. Fakir and I both turn around to see Wayland, rushing in a more partyesque style, sweat beading down his skinny and red face. We stop for a quick moment and Fakir releases my arm, staring at the boy.

"Yes, Wayland? What did you need?" Fakir's shadow drapes over me, covering me from the sight of this poor boy for some unspoken reason. Wayland stands straight and salutes the towering adult.

"Mister Andor, I would be most pleased if I could be able to join you and the fine lady Olson on your trip to the dance hall." He doesn't lose his salute until Fakir speaks back with distaste in his mouth.

"Wayland, this is a private study between me and a student. If you would like to attend, you must purchase your own ticket and attend yourself." Wayland nods furiously, procuring a small ticket from his pants pocket, though it is very obviously slick and quite moist.

"I assure you sir, I will not disturb your lesson. Is it okay if I at least walk with you?" Wayland sends me some cautious and affectionate looks, but I stand closely behind Fakir, since I don't feel totally comfortable with his stares. Fakir lets loose one more sigh, his arm holding me away from him.

"You may attend," Wayland's face lights up, but Fakir keeps going. "But you must not distract Ahiru from her lesson whatsoever. No talking during the performance whatsoever, and if I catch you attempting to distract her, you will be penalized. Am I clear?" Fakir lets the the crickets speak between them before Wayland begins following behind us, Fakir taking my arm once more and we begin walking.


	3. Chapter 3

The venue is gargantuan enough to hold probably around a University worth of people. I stand there, taking in the gorgeous Victorian architecture. The double doors hold open to the groups of people filing in politely with their lovely formal attire. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my life; I never thought a place so heavenly could actually exist in this world, but here I stand.

Fakir nudges my arm. I jump a bit and look back up at him, my face rushing with blood. He motions inside, bowing down to see me a little better. I nod and follow his lead, my hand holding onto his very gently as we practically float into the building. Handing off our tickets, we are told our according seats. Fakir must have gotten the tickets early, since we have seats almost directly in front of the stage. Fakir seats me before sitting beside me, handing over a small notebook and pen. Somehow Wayland got the seat directly behind Fakir, making it an uncomfortable looming presence over both of us.

“While I would love for this to be a purely fun experience, I do need you to study the specific movements and how they hold themselves.” Fakir leans into my ear, his hand still brushing lightly against mine. I nod my head, our eyes not breaking until we hear a familiar voice.

“So, Ducky, maybe tomorrow, would you like to-” Wayland begins fidgeting with his fingers before Fakir interrupts him again, even more scolding and frustrated than before.

“This is a lesson, Wayland. Not an invitation to a date. If you would like to pursue a girlfriend, please feel free to do so outside of lesson plans, and outside of the school walls,” Fakirs eyes finally lift from mine, a frustrated scowl lining his pink lips. Wayland cowers into his chair before huffing curses under his breath, I assume. The lights begin to dim, and ever voice hushes to the smallest whisper. I stare up into the stage and watch as the characters begin playing onto the stage.

“La Sylphide,” Fakirs voice murmurs into my ear, his finger gently rapping against my page. I swiftly jot it down on the top of the page. I continue to watch the graceful movements as they prance about the stage. Throughout the full duration of the first act of the ballet, I manage to write down so much, only mildly disturbed by the feeling of Wayland’s eyes on me. Mytho and Rue are, very obviously, the leads. 

I watch them as they intertwine and act as one, their eyes locking together each time. No smiles fall on their lips though, like they’re stoic gods. I try to write down as much as I can, though my eyes always seem to drift to Mytho. I imagine dancing alongside him. Fakir nudges my arm, pointing at the page. My pen was just scribbling against the page, mindless nonsense filling the lines. Fakir rolls his eyes and mouths to me ‘focus’. I shrink down and nod again. I watch as the characters flow onto the stage with such graceful ease. By the time the curtains fall, I have around 3 pages filled with questions and observations. Intermission is only about fifteen minutes, so I try to run over as much as I possibly can with him.

“What was the step where they hopped from one foot to the other, with one leg in the air?” I ask with trepidation. I know he hasn’t told us what that is, but I can’t help but hold back my hand tremors. He thinks for a moment, his eyes not shifting from the stage. He looks back at my page, turning it towards him so he can read my full description. With a mindful ‘oh’, he confesses, turning back my journal and resuming his eye contact with the red curtain.

“Temps levé arabesque. We’ll be learning that next week, if everything goes right. Any others you don’t know?” He turns back to the stage, avoiding my gaze entirely. Flipping through the rest of my pages, though I find nothing extra. He pats my hand, asking one more question, though there’s a definitive tone change, as though the answer I give will change his mood entirely.

“Do you enjoy the show so far?” I have to think for a moment. While I think it’s beautiful and I love the ballerina’s, it is strange to see Mytho and Rue as professionals now. Finally after a moment of intense thought, I respond as cheerfully as I can.

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous. Thank you, again. For taking me here, that is,” His eyes match with mine briefly, and there is a visible sadness with him. I try to decipher what is in his emotion, but I can’t for the life of me figure it out. He’s still a mystery to me and that frustrates me endlessly. He glances over at me once more, his eyes still somber, but his lips curling into a grin. He nudges my shoulder, motioning his hand towards the rustling behind the curtains.

“You like it because Mytho is the lead, don’t you?” He jokes with me. I laugh, mocking his own.

‘No. It’s a good story and I like the dancers.”

“Especially Mytho.”

“Not just Mytho! The other dancers are good too.” He might be right, but I don’t want him to know that.

“Oh sure. I like the dancer who portrays the cat.” He gives way, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes back on the stage.

“There’s no cat, you dingus” I retort, smiling at the curtains as they rise. He lets loose a final chuckle, admitting defeat.

“You’re much less gullible now that you’re almost an adult. I’m impressed.” People begin filing into the seats again, and the lights start to dim down. There is a wave of silence that drifts over everyone. As the last of the people trickle in, the only sound being the clicking of peoples shoes and the wheezing of the old satin chairs, The red curtain starts to rise to reveal the last act of the play. I watch the dancers for a moment, but then return my gaze to Fakir. He’s cross armed, still, but he looks like he is physically pained to watch this. He notices me and I shift my eyes back to ballet, but I know that look. He had the same look when we were in the field, back when we were in school together. My empathy can’t help but kick in, and I want desperately to ask, but I don’t think he trusts me.

I write a few more things, but I can’t help but be worried about Fakir. As the final act ends and the audience applauds, the dancers bow and give their thanks to the director and the people in front, my eyes drift once more to Fakir. He is still emotionless, still stoic, still cold. His arms are crossed, his eyes still narrow as he huffs a displeasured sigh. As the final curtain falls, he takes hold of my free hand and leads us out of the seats.

“Wait, shouldn’t we wait for-” He pulls me so hard air is forced from my lungs.

“No, we aren’t waiting for him. He knows how to get home. I’ll also be placing you in a secure lodging area.” Fakir forces his way through the crowd, almost pulling my arm from my socket as we make our way through the forest of towering people. As soon as the cold night air hits my body I can feel our pace become faster. Fakir stays silent, though I can feel his heartbeat though his slick fingers. It’s unnaturally fast, almost like he’s scared of something. I try to halt, pulling against his force and almost ripping my hand from his grip.

“Fakir, let go of me!” Finally, my hand slips from his and I fall hard on my ass, definitely leaving a bruise for the morning. My entire body shaking, I gaze up at him, a scowl running across his lips making him even more disturbing in the pale yellow moonlight. He, in lieu of explaining his actions, scoops me off the ground and begins jogging back to the boarding school. Jumping to the worst conclusion in my mind, I begin squirming and yelping for help. He stops near a desolate street, placing a hand over my mouth as I am forced against a wall. Tears start forming in my eyes as I start to recognize the situation even further. I struggle even harder before he moves my head to stare at him, his scowl becoming a frustrated frown. His eyes are no longer narrow and his hand removes itself from my mouth. He lets go of me, and either out of fear or total shock, I can’t move.

“If you stop acting like a child for one second, I will explain.” His voice is suddenly soft and gentle, like when we were alone. He tries to wipe away the tears that stain my cheeks, but I jerk my head back. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hanging his head, and heaving out a long and shaky sigh.

“What… What are you going to do to me..?” My voice cracks, my throat sore from screaming so long. He looks back up at me, his face almost exactly how I remember from when we sat together; almost a sort of affectionate look, like my mother used to give to me before my father would come home. I feel my heart drop to my intestines, beating furiously as I am so confused and conflicted. His eyes are no longer narrow, his frown no longer frustrated, his eyebrows no longer furrowed. He look almost like he’s worried about me.

“You didn’t hear Wayland, did you?” His hand removes itself from his face as he bites his lower lip and crosses his arms. I reluctantly shake my head as my tremors begin to halt.

“N-no… why?” He stands straight, turning his head back to the sound of stray people roaming the streets home. He grabs my arm in a fluster and we begin walking again, this time slower and where people can see us. He pulls me next to him, his arm wrapping around my shoulder instead of just gripping my hand. I still feel weak, but I trust him a bit more as I rationalize his character. Fakir is a cold, cynical, brutish man, but he’s not one of those guys. He leans in close to my hair again, speaking with a flickering hint of urgency.

“He was talking about how much he wished you were the sylph and how she wouldn’t be such a tease.” His warm breath makes the top of my head hot. As we swerve hard into the school, and my tear stained cheeks flush back to their porcelain. He thrusts us both into the teachers dorms, leading me towards a door labeled “Fakir Andor.” I pull back once more, my hands becoming slick. This time he didn’t bother holding on, he just opened his door and entered, telling me to stay right with there. I fidget aimlessly, obeying his word without question. I trust him, even if it’s only because he sounds scary and he could probably kill me. I know the last idea is insane and would never legitimately happen, but my anxiety is still on high alert after what just concluded.

I find myself incessantly shifting in place for what seems like hours, but the clock close to the exit shows its only been around 3 minutes before he comes back out with a blanket, a pillow, and, what I assume to be, his pajamas. He walks in silence directly past me to an empty door. He glances over to me, motioning me to the door. I jolt from my seat and sprint towards him, standing behind the closed and dusty door. Its wood is darker than everything else in the hall, giving it the most vintage look in the whole building. I stare it over before Fakir barks for me to open the door.

I push open the creaking door and stare inside, floating into the aged room. The smell of oak and dust ages the room all the more as I stare at the canopy bed, vanity, and 2 doors on either side of the bed. Fakir places all the things he had gathered onto the large bed. He closes the door and sits down on the bed, flopping himself on the bed, and staring up to the ceiling. I hesitate to sit next to him, but somehow I find myself beside him again. I look over at him, his eyes still drifted into the obsolete infinity of the ceiling.

“I hate that kid… You have no idea what he talks about in the boys classes,” he pauses, his eyes gripping onto me. I furrow my brows, and Fakir continues.

“I guess it’s only appropriate to elaborate. Just understand its a bit vulgar.” He sits upright, undoing his hair and ruffling the top, showing the soft waves of a black forest falling to the nape of his neck, glowing with orange tinges against the lights in the room. “He talks about how much he likes the way you look and the way your...” He begins motioning towards my body and continues. “You. He tries to walk into the female classes to get exercises that he already has. I let it slide the first two times, but as soon as I noticed he was just staring at girls, I began locking the doors.”

“So, he’d just try to… see us practicing?” I guess that’s kind of weird, but not harmful. Fakir shakes his head again.

“Not just practicing. Look, you have to sleep. I know I brought it up, but you just need to stay here. You need to sleep. I’ll escort you personally to lessons and your room.” Fakir stands, brushing off my comment. I huff, grabbing hold of his hand. He is going to listen to me and he is going to listen now.

“I want to know. You can’t avoid this forever Fakir. I’m an adult, I can hear whatever he says.” My entire body is shaking and my eyes are watering. Why did I even try to be assertive? I immediately regret my decision and let go of him. My head points down and I can feel the tears starting to drip. My face is burning and my throat hurts from how insanely tight it feels. I choke down my anxious pain and shuffle myself into a door I correctly assume is a bathroom. I lock myself and remove my clothing, still sobbing. He raps on my door, though I refuse to open the door.

Another rap on the door, this time more firm. Not malicious, but immediately I feel my heart sink as though something malicious holds my brain hostage. Another rap on the door, hard enough to move me. Immediately I skitter back towards the bath, and hold my head in my hands. My blood begins to beat into my fingers and I can’t hear anything except my own heart destroying the inside of my chest. I tremble as I hear the door creak open, only imagining my dad as he stands, fist unclenched and ready to drag me by my hair. Halting my crying, I instead stare up into the lifeless blue eyes of my father, his stoic and thin lipped smile reveal everything I need to know. He opens his mouth and a voice not his comes out.

It’s a worrisome and almost friendly voice that sneaks into my ears, reassuring words skitter all around me as someone sits beside me, their arm wrapping around my bare torso. Their voice isn’t raspy from smoking and isn’t heavy with cynicism, like my fathers. Instead a cool and gentle voice hushes me, reminding that I am safe and not alone. I tremble still, though the body next to me is comforting, even if it feels wrong. I begin snuggling into them more firmly and calling out for my mother. They run hands through my hair and keep telling me I am safe and okay. I shudder further, my tears ceasing and eventually becoming salty stains on my face. I feel my terror drip away, even if only when my eyes are totally shut, as I drift into what feels like the bed I sat on earlier.

Another dream about Fakir. The room is glittering white, and he stands there with his hand outstretched to me. I feel the need to take it, without much hesitation or care for what happens next. He pulls me close, and begins dancing. He holds his hand against my waist and keeps our bodies firm together, as we waltz throughout the ivory room. I feel almost like a princess as he presses his lips against my hair, because it’s not a character in this world. He actually cares for me here. I can feel his hands graze up my back as I become one with him. Our feet halt and the break in our dance isn’t the least bit jarring. His hands run over my cheek, pulling away stray hairs as he sits me down on a loveseat that wasn’t there before. Fakir kisses me once more as though we are meant to be there together.

My eyes flutter open, cold sweat beading down my body as I tug the blanket further over me. My dreams are getting much stranger, and I can’t place why… I don’t have feelings for Fakir. No matter how much I try to convince myself of that, I can still feel my heart beating in my chest as the feeling of his lips pressed against mine still overwhelms my senses. Maybe I do have feelings, but they should be fleeting; at least that’s the hope…

I stare back around at the room before me. Confused at first I remember the happenings of last night. Somehow I had oversized pajamas on, though I don’t remember how they got on my frail body. I think for a second on last night, before my entire body tenses up, realizing that Fakir probably had to pull clothes over my faint and horrified body. I push my face into the soft and heavy comforter, trying to hide my shame as the fact he saw me naked at all was an embarrassment to me and a death wish if anyone were to find out.

I sit straight again, lifting the comforter from me as I toss my legs over the side of the bed. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts as they continue to pile in. In a small lump on the end of the room, I notice stirring, causing me to project myself backwards, hiding under the heavy comforter. His voice slips out, barely awake.

“Don’t… It’s just me…” Fakir’s morning voice rings clearly as he finally stirs upwards. His piney, sleep deprived eyes open and, while not glaring, are definitely not in anyway kind. He’s sitting with his back pressed against the wall, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but unbuttoned. My eyes linger on him for a moment.

“Why are you still here..?” I ask, pulling the blanket closer to my chest, eyeing him over for any strange inconsistencies in his composure. He sneers at me and turns his head toward the door, his face still stony and hard as he speaks back.

“Couldn’t very well leave you after an attack. Nothing moral in that.” He’s very straight to the point, as usual. I roll my eyes and crawl out from the comfortable bedding, holding my pants up so he doesn’t see anything further. I continue staring at him, getting closer and sitting in front of him. I stare at him, eye to eye, trying to figure out if he’s actually being sincere. I cup my hands against his face and squish his cheeks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice lowers, gripping onto both of my hands and pulling them away from his face and places them back at my sides. There were no cracks in his face. Nothing showing he was lying. I continue to stare him over, furrowing my brows and questioning his entire demeanor. Same evergreen eyes. Same expression. Same everything. I pull myself away from him and stand back at the bed, thinking it over for a moment.

“Sorry, I’m just… not used to that sort of treatment.” I stare back at him as he stands tall, gazing down at me and giving another kind smile before walking out the door.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get the same treatment from me.” He beams, closing the door behind him. I furrow my brows, unsure if its a threat. With Fakir it’s a bit hard to tell, though this time he seemed sincere and kind. A true rarity with him. I look around, grabbing my typical uniform and throwing it on before stepping out of the room, and handing back the pajamas Fakir lent me for the night. I feel his hands brush against mine, before taking the pajamas under his arm.

“Come on, we have to be speedy. I already made sure that the other teachers know you have the day off for a private study lesson, but the other students might think something else is happening. And trust me, we don’t want any rumors spreading.” His tone is back to being cold and brusk, as usual, gripping onto my wrist and leading me through the vacant hall, before finding my room at the end.

“Thanks, Fakir. I do appreciate it.” I try to touch his hand again, though he turns away.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be escorting you to your classes from now on. I’ll inform the other teachers as well. I expect you to be on time.” He starts back down towards the dance hall, and before I can say anything more, he’s gone. I let loose a long sigh and step into my room. I flop onto my bed, exhausted from the long night, only barely motivated to open my window and stare at the blue sky. Miss Canary settles herself on the windowsill as she chirps at me, her little head moving every which way. Watching her little wings spread, I feel her land on top of my bedding, staring me over and nudging my forehead. I give her a little grin as I sit up, grabbing food from the little bag I have and feeding her with the palm of my hand.

“Here you go, girlie.” I sit myself up, laying out the feed on the sill before laying back down, reflecting on the kindness Fakir had shown me. How strange, it feels like he actually cares about me. About people. Something I hadn’t experienced so heavily in so long.

I reflect, laying on my bed and listening to the soft tweets of the birds beside me. My mom was the last person to treat me so kindly. I curl against the sheets on my bed, pulling open the drawer to my nightside table. I shuffle through the exercises from years ago before fishing out a picture I had kept secret from administration and my friends. I stare it over, looking at the young girl and her parents. All of them have strawberry hair, pale complexion, and friendly looking smiles.

I grin, though a grim reminder stares over my mother and I. The picture was taken before everything happened. Before he snapped. I bite my lip, just staring over the picture and every little detail it holds that should have been a red flag. His eyes weren’t even looking into the camera.

“Where were you looking..?” I murmur quietly to myself, not really wanting an answer. Miss Canary hops onto my chest and snuggles between what little breasts I have like a kitten begging for affection, tweeting loudly. I smile and gently rub her little head. She’s my third closest friend, right next to Pique and Lilie; thinking it over, it’s a bit strange to have a bird as a friend. I turn over to stare at the other birds who flutter away, Miss Canary included. I sigh and wonder just how long I’ve been laying here.

Long enough for Lilie to creak open my door and call me out to dinner. I stare over for a moment, silently watching her and her beautiful doll-like face beam and chatter at me about how lucky I am to have missed today’s lesson.

“Oh it was horrible! Pique twisted her poor little ankle! I had to carry her back to her room, like a princess. She didn’t like that much, but I thought it was cute,” Lilie smiles widely, continuing to talk about Pique. After a moment or so, she turns her head behind her, before stepping into my room and softly closing the door.

“Ducky… is there anything wrong with… liking girls..?” My eyes widen and I sit up quickly in my bed, staring her down. Her question rings in my ears for a few seconds before I even manage to stammer out a response.

“N-no..? Why do you ask?” With such a boy-crazy girl like Lilie, it’s strange to even know she thinks about that stuff.

“Well…” She sits down next to me, her feet awkwardly shifting against each other as she opens her mouth, nervously playing with her golden curls. “Do you think it would be weird if I asked out Pique?” Her voice quivers a bit as her eyes finally shift up towards mine, anxiously darting from one to the other. I think on it for a moment before softly patting her shoulder, and giving a small grin.

“Do what makes both of you happy. I’m never going to oppose your happiness.” I watch as she lets out a large sigh and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me into a large and loving embrace. I hesitate for a second, before returning the affection.

“Ahiru, you’re such a sweet girl!” Lilie releases me from her hard grip, before kissing both of my cheeks with her soft and perky lips. I smile, and stand with her, leaving my room with Lilie chattering about how excited she is to ask Pique on a date.

“There’s something about girls… I can’t explain it. Maybe I’m gay? No, I still like Fakir too…” Lilie rambles about it under her breath, her cheeks turning red as she continues thinking out loud.

I smirk up at her, listening to her spiral into a strange conversation about her sexuality with herself. Inevitably I hear her come to the conclusion of bisexuality before we even reach the cafeteria hall. I notice as Pique starts strolling towards us. I softly urge Lilie, nudging her arm and smiling at both of them, hoping Lilie will gain the confidence to ask.

Pique walks a bit closer, before Lilie sprints forward, pulling her into another deep and squeezing embrace. I smile and sit down by myself at our usual table in the back corner of the room, twiddling my thumbs as even I anxiously wait for them to come back. I feel a long and drawn out breath against my neck as I whisk around, staring Wayland in the face, all color draining from mine as I grip onto the table.

“Hey Ahiru,” His voice is skeevy, slithering from his upturned lips. My hands grip the table a bit harder, sweat starting to slick my hands. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I try to smile back.

“Hey Wayland, did you need something..?” I can hear my voice crack. I notice Lilie and Pique as they hold hands, walking closer, giving me both ample time and reason to cut the conversation short. I stand up, though he swiftly pushes me back down into place. I never realized how strong he is, my face draining further.

“Don’t be like that. I just wanted to talk.” His voice is laced with slime and a newfound confidence I have never heard before. I notice behind him are buddies staring over and smiling, cheering him on. He continues.

“I wanted to tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl at school, and I want to take you out, just you and me.” I feel my throat tighten as I can’t answer. My entire body stiffens as his leg starts prying my thighs apart. I feel helpless, like when I was a child, letting this happen all over again, as I squeeze my eyes shut tightly.

“Get off of her!” Pique’s voice rings loud as I feel Wayland being forced off of me. I hear him crash to the floor before coming to my senses.

“Jesus, dude! Can you not tell when someone’s uncomfortable or are you just persistent?” Pique tugs me close against her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around me. Wayland is seemingly caught off guard, staring up at all of us as Lilie stares me over, making sure I’m okay and reassuring me. Wayland stands up, staring down at Pique, trying to intimidate her. His hand reaches down to grab me, but Pique twirls me back.

“Don’t. Fucking. Try.” Pique grips onto me, and saunters away, with Lilie in tow. Either from shock or pure instinct, I let them just carry me to the teaching hall, waiting outside Fakir’s room. Pique finally lets me go, allowing me to stand next to her and Lilie. Glancing over at them, they let out synchronized sighs of relief. Their hands intertwine once again and I smile, letting the question pop out to try to ease everyone’s moods. 

“So, I guess it went well..?” I let my eyes dart between the two beautiful girls as they anxiously giggle. Pique blushes a bit as she nods, noticeably squeezing Lilie’s hand as she starts tripping over her words. Then Fakir walked to the door.

He looks between the three of us, grimacing. Without turning much, he ushers us into the room and demands an answer for our reasoning of being so early. Lilie recounts, rather quickly, the events that just happened. Fakir seems unphased, though I can easily tell he’s aggravated just from the sheer brevity and force in his sigh. He thanks Lilie and Pique, urging them to leave the room.

“I would like to get Ahiru’s direct recollection, but thank you girls for bringing her here.” He waves them out as they leave. The door clicks shut, and he starts frisking me.

“Did he do anything to you? Anything serious?” His voice is suddenly frantic, cracking ever so slightly. His hands grip onto my shoulders as his eyes lock onto mine. Somehow he seems even more scared than before, as he finally lets me go, clearing his throat and desperately trying to resume his composure as he continues looking at me. I stare up, silent as I shake my head. Fakir nods, staring away from me at this point, his hands reaching his sides in clenched fists. 

Silence is drowning the both of us in this cold room. I step back, remembering situations similar to this, pressing my back against the wall in the hope that there’s enough room for him to get angry at me. Enough room to not get caught in the carnage.

I must’ve let some of my façade of strength fade, because Fakir starts towards me, and I hold my arms up, knowing what’s to come. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, putting my arms in front of my face. His hands grab onto mine, softly pulling them to my sides.

“Look at me. Ahiru.” His voice is soft and welcoming again. Something compels me to open my eyes, though it’s less malicious and more compliance. My eyes open, staring up at him.

“I want you to walk with me, okay?” He lets go of my arms, though his hands linger against mine. I simply nod in response. He hastily scribbles on a piece of paper, places it on the door, and leaves a note on his desk for the incoming teacher.


End file.
